


Matchmaker

by loyalnerdwp



Category: Looking for Alaska - John Green, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Fluff, M/M, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/pseuds/loyalnerdwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ah - sorry, matchmaker?” John interrupted, leaning forward to look at Alaska around Sherlock’s slouched form. “That isn’t what you told me when-"</p><p>“Well, clearly, Johnny-boy. Why would I tell you my true motives if they would drive you far, far away?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker

This was the time of year Sherlock enjoyed most. Everyone took to their homes for holiday, leaving the school grounds blissfully empty and quiet. He had some time away from being stuck in front of idiotic girls half-whispering their inane, mindless gossip directly behind him and not paying an ounce of attention to the professors. True, he didn’t listen to them either, but he started trying to so he wouldn’t be force-fed information that would take him hours to get rid of later on. 

With the light falling slowly, the temperature began to drop to something almost livable. In the shade of the smoking hole, Sherlock sat at the edge of the pavement with his legs crossed under him, top two buttons of his shirt undone, hair mussed and rather mad looking. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes from deliberate lack of proper rest but he felt wrung-out and jumpy. He’d already smoked two cigarettes in a matter of fifteen minutes, and he was now lighting his third, gratefully sucking in the burning tobacco and heaving out smoke with a sigh.

His favourite time of the year was the worst, too. He was stuck in this ruddy school, nearly 5,000 miles from his home. He’d been shipped off to Culver Creek for more than one reason; the main being that he had gotten out of hand. After his mother died he had started ‘acting out’ - snapping at his teachers and insulting his peers (more viciously than just calling them idiots). He began using his intellect and skills of deduction as weapons on anyone who called him a freak, though this was counterproductive because it only increased the occurrences. He discovered the wonders of stimulant drugs - though his using was rare due to Mycroft hovering around him constantly - and smoking. His being sent to the school was supposed to whip him into shape. Needless to say, with the…  _activities_  that many students here participated in, Mycroft’s plan of action was a failure. Still, sitting around campus doing nothing and being stuck there wasn’t anywhere near a pleasure.

“Hey, Beanpole!” Alaska greeted, striding around the corner. John was close at heel looking rather uncomfortable and somewhat upset - clearly not one for being ordered around by Alaska. “We figured you’d be here.” She plopped down next to Sherlock and let her legs hang over the slab of pavement, bare feet resting in the creek below it. Sherlock gave John a questioning look, but he just rolled his eyes and shrugged, strolling over to sit on the boy’s other side.

“Haven’t you got a different scrawny kid to attend to?” Sherlock questioned bitterly, flicking ash into the creek.

“Not until later. In any case, I felt like playing matchmaker and I need a smoke.” She pulled out a cigarette and held it out to him between two fingers, whereupon he grudgingly pulled out a slim silver lighter and lit it for her.

“Ah - sorry, matchmaker?” John interrupted, leaning forward to look at Alaska around Sherlock’s slouched form. “That isn’t what you told me when-“

“Well, clearly, Johnny-boy. Why would I tell you my true motives if they would drive you far, far away?”

“Because that would be the right thing to do,” the boy sighed, rubbing his forehead and leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Alright, who are we supposed to help you fix up this time?”

“You and Beanpole, here,” she informed him with a slightly wicked grin. Sherlock snapped his head up and nearly lost hold of his cigarette, and John went completely red in the face. 

“I- I don’t-” John sputtered, averting his eyes to stare forcibly at the creek.

“What the hell are you on about?” Sherlock questioned angrily.

“Oh, god, come _on_ ,” Alaska groaned, lifting her fag to her lips. “The sexual tension between you two is so thick that a fucking machete couldn’t cut through it!” She took a drag that killed a good half of her smoke and stared with satisfaction at the looks on both teens’ faces. “Not to mention the fact that it’s completely clear you two - oh, how would you say it back where you’re from? - you  _fancy_ each other.”

“I don’t  _fancy_ anyone,” Sherlock spat, tossing the rest of his cigarette in the creek. “I don’t  _like_ anyone, in general!”

“You don’t seem to mind us all that much,” she pointed out.

“There’s a difference between tolerance and friendship. I’m not pining after a relationship with anyone, especially not John.” 

“And I’m not gay!” John interjected. “Does that happen to matter at all? Just because he doesn’t want to hook up with me doesn’t mean that I do!”

“Johnny-boy, you're so cute,” Alaska teased in a patronizing tone. 

“Oi, don’t talk to me like that!” John snapped, straightening himself and staring her down. “I’m serious. And anyhow, even if- if I did, and god, just… no, he would never go for it.” There was a slight waver to his tone and he blushed again, which (to Alaska) was the most god-awful obvious tell someone could have. 

“John, I can see it in your face right here and now!” she argued, sucking down the rest of her fag before tossing the butt in the water. “And practically every other time you look at him. You get this look in your eye and you’re in practical awe of how much of a genius-“

“What, because I appreciate how smart he is, that means that I’m-“

“John, John, just shut up for sixty seconds, and  _you_ -” Alaska grabbed on to Sherlock’s arm tightly and pulled him down as he tried to make for an escape, “-sit still and both of ya, listen.” Sherlock made a snarling sort of noise and John stiffened, but both boys remained where they were (really somewhat terrified of what Alaska would do to them if they didn’t). 

“Fifty-eight seconds and counting - don’t think I won’t walk away immediately afterwards,” Sherlock warned, eyes narrowing, visage taking on a childish sort of pout. Alaska sat up straight and turned to face them, pulling her ‘I’m always right and you ought to not bother with trying to correct me’ face. 

“Excellent. Okay! John - it’s completely obvious that you’re gone for Beanpole-“

“-I have a name.”

“-Sherlock is as much of a mouthful as Beanpole and The Colonel’s nickname for you is more entertaining anyhow, so shut up. It’s completely obvious that you’re totally taken with _Sherlock_ \- for one, you actually do call him by his name, but you call Miles ‘Pudge’ and you call Chip ‘The Colonel’ so clearly there’s some reason, right?” Alaska smiled, proud of herself and her Sherlockian deductions, then continued. “And you get a huge goofy grin every time you’re around him.”

“That doesn’t mean-“

“Dude, I told you to shut up, so just _listen_. I know you aren’t gay, I saw you staring at a Weekday Warrior’s rack just two days ago, but come on-” she took Sherlock by the shoulders and turned him to face John. “-he’s an attractive guy and you know it.” 

Sherlock pursed his lips and stared unblinkingly at the pavement, refusing to meet John’s eyes. Christ, he couldn’t believe she was doing this. He ought to walk away now, wait until dark, then sneak to her room and throttle her. One thing was for sure - he was never,  _ever_  drinking with her and The Colonel at two in the morning ever again. He ended up saying something that he was sure would not apply just a week later (which, it did, and clearly she could tell despite his fervent disagreement). He, for the most part, desired a relationship with no one – after all, getting attached was nothing he wanted to do after his mother died, and he would be moving back home after he finished next year’s schooling. Though, John would be going back as well…

God, what was he being shoved into?

John blushed yet again and swallowed hard, looking away from the pair before him. It was impossible to think that she knew these things without having to ask - then again, since meeting Sherlock he was starting to believe everyone just had these little tics to them. And now, looking at his friend, he looked… almost embarrassed, actually. He wasn’t looking John in the eye and there was a pinkish colour to his cheeks. 

“And Sherlock,” Alaska resumed. She paused, though, and leant forward to whisper something in his ear. John couldn’t hear her, but Sherlock stiffened and the pink deepened into a reddish tinge, which only made John blush even more. He felt like a right idiot, sitting here and taking this. He could walk away, but truth be told, Alaska scared him a good bit. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sherlock said in an undertone. “Just because-“

“But it does!” Alaska exclaimed, letting him go and popping up on to her feet. “Now, you two, I have to go meet Pudge, but heed my advice - I know a good pair when I see one and since Beanpole came to this school you’ve been inseparable.”

“We’re dorm mates!” John retorted.

“I meant outside of that, idiot,” she said. “Now, I don’t care if you two are just fuck buddies for the night or if you want to have sex and cuddle and be disgustingly couple-y all the rest of your schooling, but if I show up tomorrow morning to your room and neither of you look as well-fucked as you could, shit will hit the fan.” Alaska waved cheerily and turned around, skipping away and leaving the two teens sitting awkwardly, Sherlock still facing John and staring down at the pavement.

“Err- Sherlock, I’m sorry, she didn’t tell me-“

“Why do you use my name?”

John finally looked back to the boy, eyes settling on the mop of curly hair instead of his eyes (or the stretch of pale skin exposed near the top of his shirt). “Because it’s your name.”

“But like she said, you do call everyone else by their nicknames,” Sherlock pointed out.

John bit his lip nervously. “I know you don’t like the nickname. And… I don’t know. I like your name. It’s different, like you.”

“Do you like me?” 

“Well of course I do, you’re my best mate,” John said with exasperation.

“John, you know what I meant.” Sherlock finally looked up from the pavement to meet his friend’s gaze, his piercing look making John flinch. He rubbed the back of his neck and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, so he shut it again. “Don’t try to lie, you know who I am-“

“Yeah, it doesn’t work, I know,” he finally managed, dropping his hands into his lap. “Sherlock, I- you’re my friend, I don’t want to… Because you know. I know you know, you can probably tell now, just looking at me. I don’t want to lose a friendship, though, because I like being around you. I don’t care what everyone else says - I don’t think you’re a freak and maybe I’m just odd, but I enjoy being your roommate and your friend and just - I don’t want to ruin it, if something were to happen, and I know you don’t… Do relationships, or whatever.” He turned his gaze forward into the creek, and there was uncomfortable near-silence; the water continued to trickle on and the ever-so-rare breeze pushed through momentarily, but neither boy talked. Eventually, John stood and dusted off the front of his shorts before walking away and leaving Sherlock as he was before.

Now Sherlock was debating two things. Alaska had a point - he and John had become strangely quick friends, despite Sherlock’s social disorder and blatant rude personality. John stuck around (even if he had to because of their living arrangements) and continuously tried to be a companion to Sherlock. It had worked and Sherlock found himself looking forward to the nights he and The Colonel could coax the boy out on grounds past midnight, even just to eye them disapprovingly as they partook in unfavourable activities. 

In the end of it all, John had become Sherlock’s only friend, despite constant denial. They’d both be going back to London after their schooling was over, but he knew of John’s plan of action for life. It was either take this on and have it all pan out well, or risk losing the one friend he’d made since he was seven. He could hurt John irreparably, but John could hurt him as well. John was going into the military - true, army doctors weren’t usually the ones to end up killed, but it could happen, and he would be left to deal with the grief all over again.

But he wanted this. God, did he want this. And John did, too. With a slightly despaired groan, Sherlock pushed to his feet and jogged around the corner and up through the brush. He could see John walking ahead rather briskly.

“John!” he called, picking up the pace to catch up to his friend. John’s shoulders were hunched forward and his hands were shoved in his pockets - quite clearly, he didn’t want to deal with anyone. Still, Sherlock continued, now just about ten feet behind. “John!”

John stopped abruptly and turned without warning, barking out an annoyed, “what?!” at the same time as Sherlock ran into him and toppled them over on to the grass.

“Ow! Dammit, Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!” he hissed angrily, trying to wriggle free of the other’s grasp.

“I didn’t think you were going to stop,” Sherlock confessed. He pushed up on to his knees to give John room to move and stared down at the ground.

John gave a less than amused huff. “It’s fine,” he muttered, squirming backwards and out from under his friend. He rubbed at his chest where Sherlock's chin had hit him, then at the back of his head. Rather than getting up and walking off again, he lied there in the grass, arms spread out beside him and legs hooked at the ankle.

Sherlock was the first to speak up. He figured he ought to attempt to explain, but when he did it all came out as a jumbled, sputtered mess.

“Err, John - well, this isn’t necessarily - I mean, I don’t think that, well - no I do, but - ah, when my mother -” he cut himself off and bit his lip to the point of pain when John lifted his head and quirked a confused brow.

“Can I suggest talking a bit slower?” he quipped. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s entertaining to listen to you stumble about over your words, but it’s a bit hard to understand.” He gave a proud smirk and tilted his head teasingly. Sherlock scowled at him and took a deep breath.

“John, I’ve never… ‘fancied anyone’, as Alaska put it,” he endeavored. His friend visibly stiffened and his gaze became fixated, sharp. “And I haven’t had any friends, either - to put it simply, you’re an anomaly, an exception.”

“No,” John breathed in disbelief. “Are you serious?” Sherlock looked off in the direction of the dorm circle, but the pink in his cheeks had resurfaced, causing a crooked grin to spread over John’s face. “Oh, god, you are.”

Sherlock nodded hesitantly and turned back to his friend. “Like you said before, I don’t normally ‘do relationships’, but I’ve been wondering about it for a while, and if you-”

He was unable to finish his sentence. In a quick blur he was on his back, pinned by his shoulders to the ground and somewhat dazed, staring up at the near ecstatic face of his roommate.

“Was that really necessary?” he questioned breathlessly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Clarify something,” John requested. “I’m not alone in this? And I’m not a complete idiot?”

“Not a  _complete_  idiot, no.” John punched him in the arm, drawing out a grin. “You aren’t alone. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Reassured, John let a ridiculously wide smile spread across his face and he leant down to gently press his lips to Sherlock’s. After a moment of nervous delay the other responded, letting his arms slip around John’s back.

“Back to our room?” John mumbled against his lips.

“Gladly.”

—

“Ow! Be careful!”

“It’s your fault for being so freakishly tall.”

“I’m averagely tall; you are simply unbelievably short.”

John shifted carefully so he was straddling Sherlock, bent forward so his head didn’t hit the bottom of the bunk above him. He’d crushed Sherlock’s ankle trying to climb on to the bed with him and managed to bump his head twice already. The couch hadn’t been any more of a success considering Sherlock could hardly fit on it whilst lounging comfortably, and certainly not with John lying on top of him.

“5’6” isn’t that short,” John argued. “At least I can lie on the sofa like a normal human being.”

“Normal is dull,” Sherlock countered, moving to let his hands settle on his roommate’s waist.

“Is that your rebuttal for everything?”

“Nearly.” Sherlock grinned as John rolled his eyes. “I find it leaves people without much of an option for retorts.” John leant down so he was more fully on top of him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Sherlock nudged him upward so he could kiss him lazily, a wonderful slow slide of lips and occasional bumping of noses that made John smile, inadvertently making the other as well.

It all started off rather lethargically; despite the time of year and the hour of the day, their room was still inhumanely hot. John had stripped of his shirt the minute he stepped in the room, as he did always, and he’d undone all the buttons on Sherlock’s, revealing a gorgeous stretch of unmarred pale skin he’d stared at for an indecent amount of time. Frankly, it was too hot to be so close to another person, especially crowded in a small area, but neither seemed to want to break it off.

“How do you wear those bloody long sleeved shirts year-round?” John asked, trailing his lips down Sherlock’s neck. “It’s a wonder you haven’t gotten heat stroke.”

“Very thin material,” he responded absently, drawing circles with his finger in the small of John’s back. “I find it rather comfortable, and it keeps me from getting sunburnt.” John made a short noise of agreement and found a comfortable spot in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, the dip where it met his shoulder; he kissed and sucked there, drawing a low, purring sort of noise from his roommate. Sherlock dragged John’s hips down against his own; the mix of the heat, skin-to-skin contact, and friction was enough to make both of their pricks stir to half-erect and John moan quietly against Sherlock’s neck. 

“How long?” he questioned, moving from Sherlock’s neck down to his chest.

“Mm? You’ll need to be a bit more specific; I’m a genius, not a mind reader.”

“Don’t be a prat, you know what I mean.” John nipped at his left nipple causing him to gasp, caught off guard but also pleased.

“Mm, we’ve been roommates nearly a year and a half now, correct?” he mused, running his hands down John’s waist and over his arse teasingly. “I’d say, then, probably since holidays last year. You found me high off my mind at the smoking hole and you were the first to ever try to deal with it rather than sending me away.”

John nodded slightly at the unpleasant memory, letting his lips linger at the skin above Sherlock’s navel. “You needed help, and I already considered you my friend at that point, so I gave you help.”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for it.”

“You can make up for it,” John said slyly, dipping his tongue into his navel momentarily and making him shiver.

“What about you then?” Sherlock inquired, propping himself up on his elbows. “How long?”

John sat up, careful to mind his head, and absentmindedly drifted his fingers across Sherlock’s chest. “I think it’s always been there,” he admitted. “Just a bit. I mean, obviously I’ve always thought you were completely mad and a total arse, but you’re oddly charming for a mad arse.”

Sherlock chortled quietly. “You’ve a strange taste in people, John Watson.”

“Well, lucky I ended up with a strange person for a roommate, then.” John grinned and leant back down to kiss him, fingers tangling in his dark curls, tongues mingling together languidly. Sherlock’s hands found their comfortable seat on John’s waist and pulled him down, grinding their hips together. John gasped quietly against his roommate’s mouth and ground down again, rubbing their erections together and pulling a moan from the back of Sherlock’s throat. He pulled away and let his lips skirt over smooth skin and down, over his chest and back near his navel. He reached down to run his fingers over the bulge in Sherlock’s trousers before fumbling with the button and zip.

Sherlock watched John through heavy lidded eyes and swallowed dryly as he undid his trousers. Before he could second-guess himself, John moved back up to capture his roommate in a kiss, tugging down his pants and trousers simultaneously. It was extremely awkward, really; he had minimal experience with girls, and he’d definitely never been with another bloke like this - he had no idea what he was doing.

Tentatively, he wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s freed cock and smiled at the groan he received. Slowly, he began stroking from base to tip, rubbing his thumb over the slit and spreading the pre-come that beaded up. Every now and then Sherlock would breathe out something along the lines of “oh, god,” and a few curses. He thrust up into John’s hand, searching for more, urging him to move faster. John caught the message and did so, squeezing lightly near the head and twisting his hand a bit.

“N-ng,  _fuck_ , John,” Sherlock gasped, thrusting upward again. He gave a low, strained noise and came all over John’s hand and both their chests, shuddering and moaning through the waves of his orgasm.

John tipped his forehead down against his roommate’s and wiped his hand off on his trousers. The awkward sound of heavy breathing was suddenly very apparent in the room, along with the fact that Sherlock was lying beneath him, mostly naked, and he’d just given him a handjob. Needless to say, John felt like he ought to run off and hide. Before he could, though, Sherlock tugged his trousers back up and flipped them over, pinning him against the mattress by his hips.

“You’re quick to catch your breath,” John quipped with an airy giggle. Sherlock grinned and silenced him with a kiss, at the same time undoing his shorts with nimble fingers. Before John could blink, Sherlock was gone from his mouth and there was hot breath spreading over his prick. Sherlock licked at the pre-come on the head and John took in a sharp breath, afraid to look down and have the entire thing end earlier than it should. He could tell Sherlock was looking him over closely, analysing and scrutinising as he did near anything, so he didn’t move; simply waited.

Sherlock didn’t take long in his ‘study’. After a few moments he took John’s length in hand and brought it into his mouth, sucking carefully and using his free hand to hold his roommate down against the mattress. 

“Oh _,_   _christ,_ ” John moaned, fisting his hands in the sheets and arching his back slightly. Sherlock bobbed his head before pulling off to lick from base to tip and back down. He pressed a kiss to the inside of John’s thigh, then took his prick back in his mouth, guiding it along the u-shape of his tongue and sucking at the head. John threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s mussed curls. God, it wasn’t going to last much longer, but his roommate was working wonders with his tongue that completely shut down all thought process.

Sherlock pulled off again, earning a small whimper from John, but started jerking him off whilst making his way back up, stopping to tease at his navel, nipples, and suck at the crook of his neck. Once assured there would be a nice mark there, he finally moved back to John’s mouth, biting and kissing him. He could feel the tensing in John’s body that signaled he was going to come and deliberately sped up, twisting his hand and pulling the foreskin up over the head, teasing around his balls with light fingertip touches. 

John’s grip tightened in Sherlock’s hair and he gave a low shout, somewhat muffled by the other’s lips, as he came. Sherlock continued stroking him through it until he felt John relax against him, then wiped his hands off on the sheets and kissed him - slowly now, softly. As soon as the bright sparks and white started fading from his vision, John loosened his fingers from Sherlock’s hair and wrapped his arms around his slim torso, pulling him down close and nuzzling up into his neck. Sherlock smiled against blonde hair tickling at his bare skin and moved to press his lips to John’s temple.

“Shower?” he mumbled.

“Sounds wonderful.” 

—

"I'm telling you, they didn't hook up," Miles argued. "They can't have, that isn't how he is."

"Pudgie, Pudgie, do not doubt my ways!" Alaska was pulling him by the arm in a jog toward Sherlock and John's room. "I'm great at this!"

Miles rolled his eyes and focused on trying not to trip as she tugged him along. They stopped abruptly outside a door and Alaska quietly cracked it open, peeking inside. Pudge pushed onto his toes to try and look inside, but she elbowed him in the stomach. 

"Wait a minute," she hissed, peering in a bit further. A moment later a satisfied grin spread over her face and she pushed the door open the rest of the way, careful not to bang it against the wall. Pudge's mouth fell open at the sight of Sherlock sprawled out on the bottom bunk with an arm around John, who was curled around him, legs entangled, face nuzzled into his neck. They were both wearing only their boxers to fend away the heat and the sheets were pushed down to the end of the mattress.

"How... How the hell did you do that?" Miles questioned incredulously. 

"It's a gift, really," Alaska said with a smirk, crossing her arms proudly.

"Mmph, get out," John grumbled from the bed, not opening his eyes. Sherlock stirred slightly but only moved to pull John closer like a human blanket. "If I hear a single 'I-Told-You-So', there will be hell to pay."


End file.
